Ellipsis
by Wintry Leen
Summary: For the first and last time, they tried to find a beginning in this great ending. SasuSaku. Apocalypse. AU. Flash fiction. #37


**a/n:** I read excerpts from Robert Olen Butler's _Intercourse_ and I just fell in love. The format used for this piece is modeled after the he-said/she-said style of Butler's stories in the collection. This is an experimental flash fiction piece.

* * *

 _Ellipsis_

 _Haruno Sakura, 25, Doctor_

 _Uchiha Sasuke, 28, Corporate manager (according to Sakura's medical record)_

 _In the hospital, Uchiha Sasuke's room, the night of the last sunrise_

 **Sakura**

For a well-known doctor, I have committed the sin of misdiagnosing my patient's condition. It must have been the smell of the hospital's brand of disinfectant or the sight of blood or just an intentional carelessness on my part, but I actually thought that what he needed was more than just medication. I know I should've walked out the moment I saw that his wounds were serious but nothing deadly, the moment I finished checking for his heartbeat.

But I keep walking in, asking him if he needs anything else besides fixing. Maybe it's his eyes and the way he looked at me only once or maybe it's his voice, so hollow, when he said, "Thank you, doctor" or maybe it's his heartbeat and the lapses in between that scares me. He's not dying, but he's also far from living, and I need to know if he wants to go on because I can kiss his wounds, breathe air into him, and save him. For a well-known doctor, it's stupid, too stupid of me to try to look for a remedy for a wound that goes deeper than the lacerated tissue, for a disease that begins and infects the victim from within. But I'm never a doctor when it comes to him.

The stars are falling outside, balls of fire rushing to meet the ground, and the explosion of colors might've been thought of as fireworks if it made noise, but there's only the inky background being washed out rapidly, unfamiliar colors fading in, and I can only look at him never looking back at me. The ground begins to shake, and I can hear the window starting to rattle, and I'd like to be here beside him when it finally breaks.

I'd like to be a woman with the man she loves on this last day of visiting him, on this last day of walking in. The walls are starting to crack. I slip off my medical coat and take his hand in mine. "I love you," I say with no hesitation, no fear, just the hope of his eyes meeting mine one last time even without a response. I can only continue saying so even when the ceiling finally shakes, the cement dust free falling. I know he doesn't love me back, that I'm nothing but a healer to his eyes, and I haven't even completed my job – he's still bleeding even after everything. But this time, I will bleed for him.

 **Sasuke**

I didn't expect to live the moment I was rushed into this room. But she said that my wounds were nothing, that something still beats. I wanted to recover fast then and repeat what I did. I wanted to end up somewhere else. I wanted to end. But she kept coming back, and she wouldn't stop talking, so I muttered a thank you because that's the only thing doctors needed to hear whether it's with intention or not. I just wanted her to stop. But she kept walking in, checking for my heartbeat through that laughable device, and she was always . . . smiling as if everything was okay. But this night is far from ending, and nothing's going to get better.

Her eyes are the only sign of life in this room, and it's annoying. She's too happy, too full of life, and I hate it. But she's always here, night and day, and for a well-known doctor, she sure isn't busy. I may be a patient, but I don't need pity. She doesn't have to try so hard to fix me, heal me, make my wounds disappear. I don't need any saving, and my silence should've pushed her away.

But why did she have to walk in now and stay here when it's finally the end of the world, the end of me? I didn't ask for her. I don't need anyone to be with me as I welcome death. But her hands don't feel cold at all. The building begins to shake, and I know that the end is very near, but my hand is still in her grasp. I'm not pulling it back. Can't.

Debris from above are falling, and I would've missed what she said if she didn't so stubbornly repeat it. She doesn't know what loving is, and I don't. Nobody knows. But she's not smiling. The dusts continue to fall, and her eyes are starting to blur. It feels so different.

I pull her head against my chest, and I hope she hears – even without her laughable device and despite the crashing – this beating.

 _ **...**_

 _ **Fin.**_

(I'm not too confident with this one but I decided to put it up still because I want to hear your opinions. I'm currently dabbling in flash fiction and have been honing a style that I'll be comfortable with so it'd help me improve if you could give me critiques of any kind. Thank you so much in advance!)


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